


Saw You in a Fever Dream

by blueandbrady



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Desperation, Dubious Consent, F/M, Incest, Sex Pollen, Shame, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:57:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueandbrady/pseuds/blueandbrady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry eats something he shouldn't, and it doesn't go so well. Good thing Gemma is there to help him out. Sex pollen fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saw You in a Fever Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mediaville](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediaville/gifts).



> Written for the lovely mediaville for a holiday fic exchange. I hope you like it! You said "Harry/Gemma – anything," so I went with that. 
> 
> Many thanks to allfleshisgrass, agirlnamedfia, and checkthemargins for their help along the way.

Harry starts to feel ill in the van on the way back from the photoshoot. He was warm at the studio; He thought it was all the outfit changes and the bright lights, but he's steadily gotten hotter since, sweat beading on the nape of his neck. He's already stripped off his coat and is pressing his face against the cool glass of the window, but it's not helping. He hopes he isn't coming down with something bad. The next few weeks are really busy. 

Luckily they're in London, so Harry has the van drop him off at Tom and Lou's so he can pass out in their spare bed for a few hours. Maybe he just needs to sleep. 

Even in the cold air from the van to the front door, Harry feels hot and uncomfortable, skin prickly and stretched thin across his bones, and he feels a low grade arousal under it all. He's already starting to get hard in his jeans. It's _weird_. He just wants to nap it off. 

Lou and Tom are home when he lets himself in. Lou takes one look at him and starts fussing. 

"Christ, are you dying?" She touches his forehead with the back of her hand and frowns. "You're burnin' up, sweetheart. Come on, I've something for that." 

It's something liquid that's clearly intended for people Lux's age and it tastes gross, but Harry swallows it down without question, just wanting to get away. His cock fattened up when Lou took his arm and he hasn't gotten hard over Lou in almost a year. Clearly he's very, very ill. 

"I'm going to take a nap," he says, holding very still while Lou wipes his sweaty face with a cool flannel. God, it feels so good. He might have let out a sound because Lou gives him a funny look and steps back. 

"Get some rest," she says, giving him the flannel to take. He rubs it over the back of his neck and moans all the way to the bedroom. 

He can't get undressed fast enough once he's got the bedroom door shut, and he digs in the closet for the spare box fan he knows is in there. He turns it on high and collapses face first on the bed, then rolls onto his back, stretching his arms and legs. He can feel the duvet warming up under him. 

"Eurgh," Harry whines, rolling over again. He's so hot, and his skin feels _wrong_. He can't get comfortable. And he's almost fully hard, which is ridiculous because he couldn't be less interested in getting off right now. He groans again, shoves his face into the pillow, and eventually falls asleep. 

-

He wakes up some time later, burning and wanting to crawl out of his skin. The blanket is soaked with his sweat and his dick is so hard against his stomach that it hurts, and he whines, wrapping a hand around it, jerking roughly. His thighs shake and his feet slip on the duvet as he fucks up into it, grunting. 

It barely takes any time at all before he's coming, spilling all over his hand and stomach and duvet. His throat stings, scratchy and dry, and through the haze, he realizes he's still hard, erection hot and full against his stomach despite there being come everywhere.

"Fuck," Harry groans, touching himself again, and it feels just as good, like he didn't just get off. It makes no sense. 

"Harry?"

Harry groans, hand flying away from his cock as he rolls over onto his front. He grabs a corner of the duvet and tugs it over his lower half. Blah, _go away_ , he wants to shout. It's so _hot_. 

A second later the door opens and Gemma walks in. She takes one look at Harry and then rushes to his side and sits on the edge of the bed near his head. She feels his forehead and Harry bites his tongue and forces his hips still. He can feel her touch in his bones and wants more. He has the sudden urge to grab her and throw her onto the bed and, oh god. He groans, hiding his face. What the hell. Those are _private_ alone thoughts he never, ever allows himself to think when she's around, and he never, ever feels the urge to _act_ on them. 

Gemma makes soft, soothing noises and brushes hair off his forehead. "Lou said you were poorly, but I didn't think it was this bad," she says. "Can I get you anything? Water? Paracetamol?" 

Harry shakes his head. He doesn't know what's wrong, but it's not a sudden cold or flu. This is not what a cold or flu feels like. He’s just hot, and hard, and he can’t seem to get any release. It's like when he took pills that one time but so, so much worse. Those wore off and he could still breathe. This, not so much. 

Gemma cards her fingers through his sweaty fringe and Harry closes his eyes and slows his breathing, fights to keep his hips from humping the mattress. It feels good, the rough, scratchy duvet and Gemma’s gentle fingers, both sending waves and waves of sensation through him, like everything is multiplied. He's going to burst. He needs to come, and even worse is everything inside him screaming to grab Gemma and fuck her. 

It has to be this fever. He would _never_. 

"You're really warm," she says quietly. 

"Burning up," Harry says. God, she needs to leave. His hips twitch. 

Gemma digs her fingers in, applying pressure and Harry moans, cutting it off as fast as he can by hiding his face in the pillow. "Harry?" Her hands leave his hair but are quickly felt again on his back, making a gentle sweep. 

Harry chokes on a sob as his hips jerk, once, twice, against the mattress and comes. His face burns. Oh, god. 

"What -- did you -- "

Harry nods jerkily, and slips a hand between himself and the bed, curling it around his cock. Fuck. He’s still hard. "Yes," he says. "Yes, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean -- but I can't, I need -- it hurts," he babbles, rolling onto his back, hand still curled around himself. 

Gemma lets out a surprised sound. "I, how, how are you still -- "

"I don't _know_ ," Harry says, voice breaking. He can feel wetness at his eyes. It hurts and coming isn’t working, it’s not enough. 

"We need to call someone," she says and Harry's eyes fly open suddenly. 

"No." Harry grabs her hand, reaching over himself to use his other one. He shudders.

"Harry, if someone drugged you, we need -- "

"No one drugged me," Harry says, squeezing her hand. It feels good to touch her. "No chance, too busy, oh god." His cock throbs and he runs his hand over it, tries to release some pressure but it doesn't work. He can't -- his hand isn't -- he wants her. "It hurts."

"You're scaring me," Gemma says, and runs her fingers down the side of his face. 

Harry makes a strangled sound. She's right there. She wouldn't have to move much at all. "Gemma please," Harry says, gasping. "Help me." 

"How?" she asks. "What can I _do_?" 

"Touch me," Harry sobs. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe evenly. He can feel himself working into a panic. He wants her; his body is screaming to grab her with both hands and pull her onto the bed and tear her clothes off. His breath hitches. He _can’t do that_. He can’t, it’s not -- it’s not right, but then -- then --

There's the sound of a drawer and then cold, wet fingers are knocking his away and wrapping around him and he gasps, shuddering. It feels better instantly, cool and slick and _her_. She’s barely touching him but the pull under his skin, the one yelling at him to take her quiets down like it’s muffled, and he's jerking his hips up into it before he thinks. Maybe this is it. Maybe this will do it. 

"Yeah," Gemma breathes out and Harry looks down with wide eyes. "Just like that."

"Gemma," Harry whines, fights to not take advantage of her hand on him. “Gemma, you -- you don't have to do this." 

Gemma shushes him. "You need it. I can't let you hurt like this." 

Harry moans. She’s right; he does. She twists her wrist and Harry lets his head fall back, some of the tension escaping. He can feel his orgasm coiling at the base of his spine already. "Feels so good, Gem." 

"I got you," she says, laying a soft kiss near his temple. 

Harry gasps when he comes, and his back arches, shoves his cock hard into Gemma’s hand and she doesn't let go, keeps jerking him through it until he's done and drops limply like a puppet that got its strings cut. 

When he opens his eyes again, he sees Gemma's not touching him anymore but is staring down at his cock. It's still hard, curved up flat against his stomach. "How are you still hard?"

Harry shakes his head. "I don't know." He hasn't gone down at all, but he feels oddly okay. It still hurts and he wants to yell a bit but he can breathe, like he's in the water and it's muted. And he's tired again, can feel himself drifting off. "So sorry, Gem," he says again, and passes out. 

-

When he wakes up, the itch under his skin is back with a renewed vengeance. He feels wrong, twisted up inside with skin too small on the outside, and he can sense Gemma's still in the room because his body is screaming for him to go to her. 

He has no idea what time it is anymore. It’s dark is as much as he can tell from the windows, so he has no idea how long he’s been like this. He’s hard again, or still is, and it hurts. Apparently none of the times earlier helped. 

Harry struggles to sit up. “Gemma?” 

“I’m here,” Gemma says, and a moment later she’s at his side, crouched down beside the bed. “It’s okay, I’m here.” She brushes hair out of his face, and he turns into it, chases the feel of her hands. The buzz under his skin lessens with her but a different sort of urgency grows. "God, you're burning.”

“Is the heat on?”

“No, babe.” She feels his forehead again and frowns. “Come on, up. You’re getting in the bath."

Harry doesn’t really want a bath. He wants to stay right there with Gemma next to him. He wants her to get in bed with him, touch him, make him come. It’s almost all he can think of. 

Walking takes more energy than Harry has, and it feels weird, pulling at his skin to fit his adjusting bones. He moans as she helps him to stand on wobbly legs, and he leans on her for support. Her hair smells good. He can’t help but turn his face into it and breathe in deep. 

"Come on, I've got you," she says, practically carrying him into the bathroom. She helps him into the bathtub and turns the water on, and he recoils at the difference in temperature. It’s freezing but warming up quickly. She wipes sweat from his forehead. "Take this, wash up." 

Harry shakily accepts the flannel and soaped up loofa Gemma gives him and halfheartedly washes while she disappears. Everything feels nice against his skin: the cool water, the scratchy loofa, the slick porcelain of the tub. His cock still hurts and he misses Gemma’s hands on him, but it’s nice, for a minute.

By the time Gemma returns, Harry’s balled up the flannel and is using it to rest his head on the rim of the tub. Gemma tuts. “Come on, up again,” she says, and helps him into a fluffy towel. He bites down on his tongue to stop a noise escaping when it brushes his cock. Everything feels so good right now. 

When Gemma left the bathroom, she must have gone back to the bedroom because the sweaty duvet has been stripped and replaced with cool sheets, and Harry yearns for it. He breaks away from Gemma’s guiding hands and falls onto it immediately, rolling onto his back. He ignores how he must look to her, desperate and hard. 

He’s quickly heating back up, cock demanding attention."I need to come," he says and gets a hand around himself. He watches Gemma's eyes track his movement. It feels okay, but it doesn't feel good. Not like her. "I’m so sorry,” he says, unable to stop touching himself. “I can't -- it hurts. I have to touch.” 

Gemma frowns at him and worries her lip. "Are you sure no one gave you anything?" 

"Nothing," he says, jerking harder. "Was working." His palm is dry and his dick feels rubbed raw. "Gemma, please." 

"I don’t know what to do," she says. 

“Anything," he says. “I don’t know what’s happening but it only feels good when you touch me. I need you to touch me.” 

Gemma hesitantly joins him on the bed again and runs her hand down his chest, thumbs over his nipples and feels out his abs, stopping just below his belly button. Harry jerks into it, whining. _Yes_.

"My hand didn't work, remember," Gemma says, voice barely more than a whisper. 

Her hand on his stomach feels like the biggest tease and he aches all over for her. "Blow me,” he says in a rush. He feels his face heat up, embarrassed. He would never in his right mind say that to her. Fuck. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please." 

“Harry,” Gemma says softly. He can feel how she’s gotten tense. “That’s -- I can’t do that.” 

Harry makes a noise that is pathetic to even his own ears. “Please,” he says. “Gemma, please. I don’t, I don’t know what else.” 

“Let me call someone for you. Who’s in town that you --” 

"No." Harry grabs her hand. "There's no time. Need you. Want you." His body sends shooting pain all over at the thought of her leaving. 

“I --” Gemma takes her hand back and runs them through her hair. She looks conflicted and Harry gets it. She should say no and leave. Leave him there because he’s gross and doesn't deserve a sister as amazing as her. But because she’s amazing, she wants to help him. He should make her leave and deal with this himself. He wishes he were a better person and could do that. 

“Gem.”

“Give me a minute, Harry,” she says. She brushes her hair out of her face, twisting it into a bun at the nape of her neck, but it starts coming undone the second she moves. 

“Sorry,” he says again, reflexively, and bends his leg as she moves down the bed, making it easier for her to slide in between. 

Her hands are little pressure points of relief on his thighs, and he takes deep, steadying breaths, not exactly believing what’s happening. Her long blonde hair falls into her face and over his legs and he stares, mesmerized. He wants her so much. Always, always wants her. He's thought about this, pictured this, but never expected it to ever happen. 

Even as she’s curling a hand around the base and flexing her fingers, he can’t believe it. Her hand is small, positively tiny wrapped around him. He's tense, and the fever urge is there that is telling him to shove her head down, make her take it now, but he ignores it. He isn’t like that. He can’t do that to her. "Gemma, please, _ah_ ," is all he gets out. It's relief, the ringing in his ears and the pounding below the surface quiets when when she finally puts her mouth on him. His fever drops and he shivers, sucks in air and exhales shakily. "Yeah," he says. "Yes." He pushes up on his elbows but his arms give out. "Yes, Gemma, so good." 

Her tongue is a hot, hot stripe up his shaft and around the head. His toes curl and there are sparks of light behind his eyelids. It’s never felt like this before, and it’s still not -- "More,” he says, mouth falling open, gasping. “More. S-suck me.” He can feel the burn fading, the itch under his skin calming down. His whole body trembles. 

A moment later he feels her lips wrap firmly around the head, sucking him in as she goes down to her fist. Each time she takes a little more, stopping when he hits the back of her throat, easing off and building up a rhythm. The way she holds him in her mouth, how she keeps her teeth covered and continues to move her tongue sends a wave of irrational jealousy through Harry and he reaches down, touches her cheek to feel himself inside. He still can’t believe it’s happening. 

His hand moves to her hair and brushes it back, flipping it to the side and out of the way as she bobs up and down. She’s enthusiastic, not concerned about being perfect and there’s something so, so hot about that to Harry, or maybe just that it’s Gemma, he doesn't know. He leaves his hand there on the back of her head, cradling it as he thrusts gently, unable to stop himself. He can’t look away from the way his cock disappears in and out of her mouth. _His_ cock. Gemma puts a hand on his thigh but doesn't tell him to stop. God, he’s never going to be able to look her in the eyes again. 

His thighs start to shake, stomach clenching as his orgasm coils at the bottom of his stomach. His breaths come out unsteady. “Gonna come,” he warns. Gemma acknowledges him with a quiet hum and sucks harder, uses her other hand to cup his balls and roll them gently. The fever simmers under his skin. He feels stretched thin, ready to snap. 

When he comes, he has a handful of her hair in his grip and is chanting her name. 

Gemma pulls back, giving him a stern look but he doesn't care. He doesn't think he has to capacity to care right now. He feels like jelly. Rapidly warming jelly. 

"God, Gemma," he says, and before he has the chance to let the high fade he's dragging her up to the head of the bed and kissing her. She makes a small, startled sound but kisses back, her tongue a hot, blunt slide over his. He moans and kisses her harder. 

She reaches between them and lightly feels out the head of his cock. “You’re still hard,” she says, sounding just as confused as the first time. 

"I know, I'm sorry," he says between kisses. He sucks on her tongue, her bottom lip. "I don’t know why this is happening."

“Me either," she says, chasing his tongue and adding her teeth for short, sharp nips. She's so good at this too and he feels it to the bone. 

Harry keeps kissing her and holds her close, tries to forget that the only reason he’s getting this, the only reason he gets to know what this feels like is because something’s wrong with him and she just wants to help. 

He can feel the fever bubbling back up under his skin and there's nothing he can do to stop it. “I’m so sorry, Gemma. I just need you so much.” 

“It’s okay,” she says. “We’ll figure this out.” 

"No, I mean." He kisses her again deeply, unable to turn it down. "I mean I need more. I'm so sorry."

Gemma kisses his face, soft, comforting presses of her mouth and he settles. He stops shaking. "What do you need?"

"Need to fuck you," he says, and then screws his face up in pain. He would never say that. This is the worst. "Please, I'm sorry." The fever is back. That was almost no reprieve at all. He rubs his cock on her hip. The denim of her jeans is rough and it makes him suck in a sharp breath. “Can I fuck you? I need, I don't know what else. Please, I'm so sorry." He sucks on the skin below her collarbone to stop begging. 

It feels like a lifetime before she responds, so he buries his face in her neck. She smells like soap and a little like sweat and it’s so good it makes his whole body pulse. She hasn't said anything yet, she's just rubbing her fingers through his hair, tracing his skull. "No one is to know about this, Harry,” she eventually says. “No one.” 

Harry's nodding before she's finished speaking. "I promise,” he says. “No one. I just want to come. And for it to _work_."

In the next moment Gemma sits up enough to take her shirt off and reaches back to unhook her bra. Harry watches, unable to look away. Her skin is pale and unmarred by tattoos unlike his and her breast are full and round. He's reaching out, cupping one before he realizes what he’s done. Gemma startles but lets him. 

"God, you're beautiful," he says. It’s not the fever talking this time. "Absolutely stunning." 

In the dark of the room Harry can still see the blush on her cheeks. "Shut up." 

"I mean it." Her nipple hardens under his hand, and he can't help but duck down and take it in his mouth. The sound Gemma makes is well worth it and Harry grins, pleased with himself. She deserves something out of this too. "Lie back," he says and she actually listens. 

His cock still hurts, throbs with the need to come again, but he needs this just as much. Instead of screaming at him to grab her, take her, his body is screaming to touch her, make her come. He can’t tell if it’s his own desire or the fever doing it. 

He thrusts against her thigh and turns his attention to her other breast. He drags his teeth lightly, enjoying the sharp intake of air from her. Her stomach is smooth and it trembles under his mouth as he kisses down, but she lifts up for him without hesitation after he unbuttons her jeans. It's just like his dreams. He's dizzy with it. 

He hesitates when faced with her almost naked. He’s just. He’s thought about this a lot. 

She's wet, panties damp and heavy with the scent of arousal when Harry spreads her legs and mouths up her inner thigh and outside her underwear. He kisses her clit through the cloth, adds to the wetness with his tongue. 

"God, Harry," Gemma groans. Her voice sounds weak. "Stop teasing." 

“‘M not.” 

“Are too.” 

Harry laughs. God, he really, really can’t believe this is happening. "Fine." He tugs her underwear down until she can kick them off and presses back in, getting his mouth on her cunt. Gemma squeaks, legs coming up in surprise and Harry holds them open, draping one over his shoulder. He's good at this. It may be Gemma, but he can do this. He has to make it something she won’t ever forget. 

He holds her open with his fingers and licks long and slow, sucks at her clit until she gasps and pushes him away, finding out what she likes and doesn’t. She's slick and hot under his tongue; it matches the rest of his body, hot and slick from the fever. He grinds his dick into the mattress at the taste of her. She shudders under him. He can barely look up but she's got an arm thrown over her eyes and he wonders if it’s from pleasure or if she’s thinking about someone else. He doesn’t want to know if it’s the latter. 

Her other hand has taken to clenching handfuls of his hair, tugging him this way and that, and Harry moans around her clit. He’s even harder than before, but it’s different. This is pure desire that he recognizes instead of the fevered urge that’s been suffocating him. 

He pulls back to suck in two fingers and she whines, pulling painfully at his hair to get him back. It stings but he doesn’t stop until they’re wet. He thumbs over her clit as he slides his fingers inside her. 

“Ah, god, Harry,” she moans, spreading her legs more, the grip on his hair wavering, and Harry puffs up in pride. If they never do this again, he wants her to remember this being good. 

He crooks his fingers, draws them in and out until he’s just kissing her hip, her thigh, her stomach, following orders of “harder, faster, more.” He had no idea this is what she’d be like. It only takes a few more soft laps of his tongue when he gets his mouth back on her for her to come. 

There’s a flush high on her cheeks and she’s breathing heavy, trying to catch her breath when Harry crawls back up. “Was that okay?” Harry asks, pressing a light kiss to her shoulder. 

Gemma huffs, rolling her eyes. "Yes, Harry.” she says, breathy. “That was okay.”

Harry kisses her shoulder again, grinning. 

“But you’re not done.” 

“I’m not? Oh.” Harry lights up. He didn't think -- 

The fever rears its head again, making itself known painfully in his cock now that what it wants is so close. Harry grins, rolling himself back on top of her, and her legs fall apart, making room. His cock drags on the soft of her inner thigh before bumping her cunt, tip nudging against her lips and they both make a sound at it. Harry shivers, the fever decreasing rapidly, faster than any other time. 

“Come on,” Gemma says, running her hands up his arms and back down. Her eyes are closed, head back.

Harry pushes her thighs further apart and takes himself in hand, angling his cock to catch on her cunt and with a steady pressure, he pushes inside. They both moan, and he drops his head to her shoulder, elbows locking from the effort of not collapsing. “Fuck, Gemma.” She’s tight, and her cunt pulses adjusting to the width of him. He keeps pushing in, slow and steady. The fever is almost completely gone. 

“I - _god_ ,” Gemma moans, shuddering. She pushes at his chest, getting him to lean back again and she rolls her hips, disrupting Harry. “Come on.” 

Harry doesn't know if he can. His hips stutter with stops and starts. It’s-- she’s so much better than he could have ever imagined and he feels like he’s going to snap any second. It’s what he’s wanted since this started, but now, without the fever, he doesn’t want it to end. He’ll probably never get to experience this again. 

“Fuck, okay,” Gemma says and then she’s pushing him away, off completely. 

“Noo,” Harry whines, slipping out. “What are -- oomph.” Harry hits the mattress hard on his back and blinks up at her climbing on top, throwing one leg over his. “Oh.” 

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” she says. Her hair falls long and messy down her chest. It doesn’t quite cover her breasts and he stares. 

"Yeah, yes, okay." Harry nods, and grips her waist, helps her balance. One of her hands is on his chest and the other reaches behind herself, taking hold of his cock and holding it where she wants it. Harry swallows, wets his lips, everything gone dry. 

They both groan when she slides down, and she braces both hands on his chest for support. Her hips rock, little increments at first until she huffs, tosses her hair back, and puts her whole body into it. Harry makes a truly embarrassing noise, fingertips clenching on her hips. 

He’s already _this close_ to coming. It won’t take much, but he needs to focus enough to make sure she does too. Her hair has already fallen back into her face, so he tosses it back futilely, and flattens his feet on the bed, pushing up when she rocks down. Her insides pull at him tightly; he can’t breathe. Her eyes are closed, lost in concentration. He can’t handle much longer. He doesn’t have it in him after all of tonight, so he takes one hand off her hip and thumbs over her clit, rubs it in a firm steady motion until she’s choking on air, hips stuttering, cunt pulsing around his cock. 

He comes moments later, shuddering with her. 

"That was," Harry says, or tries to say, having to take a breath in between. She's still on top of him and he's still inside her but he can tell it worked this time, that he's slowly getting softer. 

"Yeah," Gemma agrees, and lifts up, pulling off him carefully and rolling to the side, still panting. She looks so lovely still, hair a wreck and face red. Harry wants to touch her, to pull her in and kiss her but isn't sure if that's allowed anymore, now that it’s done. 

“I think it’s over,” he says, gesturing to himself. The fever’s gone and his cock is spent, finally. 

“Yay,” Gemma says, turning her head to smile at him, and does the most lackluster imitation of a cheerleader Harry’s ever seen. He can’t help but laugh. “No, but really. Good. I’m glad.” 

“Yeah, me too,” he says, and means it. It was brutal, but the end was worth it. He can feel himself drifting off again already, the day’s exertion catching up with him. “Gonna fall asleep,” he says.

“Okay,” Gemma says, and she yawns a second later. “Me too.” 

-

When he wakes up the next time, there is light streaming in through the windows and an empty other side of the bed. The room still smells of sweat and sex, and his whole body aches, muscles he forgot he has crying out in protest as he sits up. His head is swimming. 

The first thing he does is drag himself into the shower again. The hot water feels good and he puts some effort into washing this time, still able to feel the layer of sweat and grime from yesterday. He washes his hair twice, and then steals clothes from Tom’s closet. 

Out in the kitchen, Harry sees Gemma before she sees him. She’s sitting at the table, scrolling through her phone and drinking a cup of tea. She doesn’t _look_ like she had sex with her brother yesterday and is hating both herself and him, and the urge to run to her and touch her in some way is still there, but less, back down to the normal level he’s used to dealing with. 

“Hey,” he says, stepping around the corner. 

Gemma looks up from her phone, smile disappearing. It’s replaced with a frown and hard eyes. Harry freezes. 

“You ate an apple that you found on the _floor_ , Harry!” she yells, pushing up from the table. Harry blinks. He has no idea what she’s talking about. “I called Liam who asked Niall who asked Louis who asked Zayn if they saw you eat anything yesterday. Zayn said you ate an apple you found on the floor!” 

_Oh_. “It was in a box,” he says, only just now realizing how stupid that sounds. 

“Oh, well, if it was in a _box_ then. Surely no one would put a poisoned apple into a box. No, bad apples are only found _outside_ of boxes.” 

“I.” Harry takes a step back. Gemma is and has always been scary when she’s mad and it’s worse when she’s mad at you, apparently. “I didn’t think --”

“No, you didn’t think,” she says. “Christ, Harry.” She runs a hand through her hair and huffs out a breath, appearing to calm down now that she got that out. “Don’t eat any more found food, okay?” 

“Okay.” Harry nods. 

“I mean it,” Gemma repeats, and then she rushes forward and hugs him. Her arms are tight around him, and her face is pressed against his chest when she speaks, “You scared me.” 

Harry brings his arms up around her and drops his head down onto hers, breathes in the the fruity scent of her freshly washed hair. “I’m sorry. Won’t happen again,” he says. “Only appropriately approved food from now on.’ 

“Okay, good,” she says, pulling back. “And we’re good, too, yeah?” She puts some space between them and shakes hair out of her face. “Crazier things, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. He takes in the way Gemma is holding herself, arm bent awkwardly at her hip and smile not quite reaching her eyes. She’s uncomfortable and desperately trying not to look it. He appreciates the effort. “Yeah, Gem,” he repeats, more confidently. “We’re good.


End file.
